Shattered
by Triskell
Summary: CATS: Reflections on a loss; Jelly-centric.


Author: Triskell  
Summary: Reflections on a loss (Jelly)  
Rating: PG-15 (emotional turmoil)  
Disclaimer: The Jellicle Cats belong to TSE, ALW & RUG. The story is mine, no copyright infringement is intended.  
Author's Note: This is more reflective than what I usually write, more approaching poetry and very special to me as it deals with subjects close to my heart that I hold dear.

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** SHATTERED **  
© Triskell, August 10/14, 2001

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'Asparagus, Theatre Cat'  
  
The inscription on the wooden plank that marked the grave was simple, as were the flowers - forget-me-nots from a spot near the cemetery wall. Yet to the silent queen that stood near the new earthen mound long after the other mourners had left, there was a deeper meaning to the small blue petals.  
  
She remembered the old cat who lay buried at her feet as more than her uncle. She had seen the tom in him, the artist. He had been everything to her, in a way that she could not have explained to the tribe - her father, uncle, brother, teacher, mentor and, yes, even her lover. She had needed no other but him.  
  
His love for her had been all consuming - a passion for her mind and soul that went beyond those physical boundaries where others measured the word. He had been her soul mate, their bond as deep as the mystical twins', just on another level, a different existence.  
  
She remembered how, as a young kitten, she had been taken in by Asparagus, then a star in the theatre, always busy and short on time. Yet he had taken her with him, into the shimmering, shining world of make believe, a realm of mystery and excitement where the quiet, demure little queen blossomed into the empress of the stage.  
  
Among the actors she had had her place, had been admired and cherished. Hardly any of her friends at the tribe remembered that she had played little roles in Asparagus' performances. He had trained her, made her an actress - someone who could share his artistic vision and his love for the written word.  
  
Standing in the sunset, staring at the grave that held so much more than an old cat's body, held part of her life, and the greater part of her soul, the middle-aged queen sighed. Her patience and her love had carried her through those last years with Gus. The theatre cat had been ailing, his body suffering from palsy and his mind from loss of memory.  
  
The old plays had surfaced, taking him under their spell and he had relived them as if they were real. That had hurt her the most. To see the brilliant performer believe himself to still be on stage, and the stage his life.  
  
So little left of the theatre cat, and so much lost that only she truly knew of. She had cared for him, day and night, never wavering. And even in his failing eyes she had seen the fire of conviction in her - the unshakeable belief that he had only spoken of once, "You are indeed an exceptional actress, my dear Jellylorum."  
  
Such a short sentence, so little to be taken from the clouded looks as time passed. But it had been her world. She had resigned from the theatre, dedicated herself to Gus and his comfort, letting him live his dreams.  
  
To her, forsaking her own life and plans had been little compared to the joy it was to share with him what only she could. He had so deeply touched her heart as a kitten that, as she grew, he remained her truest friend, her one confidant.  
  
Many times she had thought to explain her wishes and hopes to her friends, those at the junkyard who had not known about her budding acting career, but they had never understood. Jenny had spoken for all of them when she said, "The theatre is dead and gone, Jelly. Those times are past."  
  
Her dreams had been shattered then, like a glass marble as it fell to the cobblestones, a bright clicking sound as it broke on the pavement. But there had yet been one cat who remembered her talent and her plays. Someone who would smile and brighten up when she read or recited poetry, or a monologue from a play as if they were her lost friends she had come back to embrace.  
  
Softly, a light drizzle fell onto her head and she turned her eyes upwards, to the heavens. They were clouded and dark, hidden and hushed up like her thoughts. She had never been a true part of the tribe and how could she face them now when all that she had once thought she was had turned into a shadow, a distorted image of her hopes.  
  
Her life, her entire being had been focused on the wish to act - and on Gus. She had always felt that she couldn't do the one without the other. It was as if she had been born mainly to compliment him in his world, to be the bridge between him and reality.  
  
Nothing but the stage. Now he was dead. Passed away quietly into his better life, his visions of his past. She had long stood over his peaceful body, gazing at the rugged features and the benevolent eyes that had lost their sparkle. She had closed them, shutting out the light of the morning sun which they could no longer see.  
  
Touching his paws that grew colder as the light broke into the room. Stroking his cheek and placing one last kiss upon his brow - the kiss of a lover saying goodbye. Her mate in spirit and the one tom who had held her heart.  
  
What was there for her to do now? Her place in the tribe was little but Gus' shadow, his companion and his nurse. She had never been anything else, never striven for another occupation. It had been enough for her, a safe haven of repose and usefulness.  
  
She would never feel this again. All she had become was a farce, laughter and scorn were thrown into her face - she was nobody in this real world now. "I hate my life," she whispered, regretting the words at the same moment.  
  
She shook her head, slowly as if in wonder. Kneeling down she patted the damp earth, rearranging the tiny heads of the flowers, "Goodbye my dear."  
  
It was a final greeting. Never again would she come to look upon this grave. Gus was gone and there was no need to drive the point further into her heart.  
  
Once at the junkyard, she hurriedly passed the clustered cats who had come outside despite the London drizzle - to talk of the dead and possibly to comfort her. She wanted none of that. No pity, no remembering. What was in her heart was for no one else to see - her solace was the glow of a few words that came from the depths of a soul that had never shared before and yet opened willingly to a little kitten - all its glory and all its shame.  
  
Jelly knew that the tribe would expect her to do certain things now. Natural things that she had 'denied' for many years. Matehood, being one. Having kittens. She was not too old for that as she well knew. She would not be urged, but she felt they were wondering how long it would take for her to let go of the memories and settle down.  
  
But she had no intention at all to do that. Her life had been exciting and beautiful on the stage and with her ailing charge. There had been a light and sparkle in it that was unmatched by all that the tribe had to offer her now. She had been content until Gus died, no one asking for any other reason but that she took her responsibility for him seriously, accepting her as a nurse, not as the cat she truly was.  
  
The perception they had of her would change now. And dramatically so - for when they saw she was a vagabond at heart like the theatre cat they would be shocked, not understanding the need to break out of normality and leave reality behind for the imagination of a thousand different lives.  
  
She felt empty as if she were merely a shell without dreams and hopes and a reason to go on. Her face was blank now, impenetrable as she looked into the mirror on the wall. There was no emotion in her eyes, no tears to be shed. A stone statue staring at the void that was her life.  
  
_'He was an old cat, he's at peace up there. Let him go and pass on. There's so much to life, so many possibilities…'_  
  
She heard the rumbling of thunder, rolling in her head like the whispers the tribe had thought she was too much shaken to hear. But she had heard them all the same - and disagreed.  
  
He was at peace, yes. But the possibilities for her were so hopelessly limited - she had learned to love only one thing as well as her uncle and that was the vagrant life of an actor, the daily insecurity and glory of making a living out of the words poets long dead had written.  
  
Her gaze fell onto a snow globe that had sat on the shelf for about as long as she could remember. Gus had told her about it - there was a little figure of a ballerina in it - a present from an old friend, a remembrance of days long gone already even when Jelly was born.  
  
She took it into her paws, turning it around carefully. It was cool to the touch, the white flakes swimming about lazily, almost dreamily. Her grip loosened, the globe fell, shattering on the floorboards. So many shards, she reflected, so many pieces of a whole that could never be put together again.  
  
Like her life. Beautiful as her dreams, fragile as her hopes and broken like her soul. She bent down, hesitantly as if not to disturb the glass. As she picked up one of the shards, the early evening sunlight broke through the rain clouds, glittering on the sharp edges - sparkling like the dark eyes of an old tomcat who had believed in her talent.  
  
She sighed, letting the glass slither out of her grasp, cutting into the pad of her paw slightly. She didn't feel the pain as the first red droplets fell onto the shattered globe - her life mingling with the broken existence she was contemplating.  
  
Yet there was still a defiance in her and Gus' words echoed from deep within her, _'You are indeed an exceptional actress, my dear Jellylorum.'_  
  
She smiled, spreading a well-worn rug onto the bed the old tom had lain in only this morning. It wasn't long before she had gathered her few possessions, amidst them the feather boa she had once worn as she played the Lady Griddlebone at her uncle's side.  
  
There was no need to tidy up the room, no one would notice after all. She turned around once, taking in the cosy little dwelling that bore the touch of the theatre cat before she opened the door, her bundle slung across her shoulder and vanished into the evening gloom.  
  
No one saw her leave as she went out, ready to take on the world on the planks where Asparagus had stood and shone so many years ago.  
The Beginning in an End.  
  
Without You  
From „Rent" by Jonathan Larson  
  
Without you the ground thaws,  
The rain falls, the grass grows  
Without you the seeds root,  
The flowers bloom, the children play  
The stars gleam, the poets dream  
The eagles fly…  
  
Without you the earth turns,  
The sun burns, but I die without you.  
  
Without you the breeze warms,  
The girl smiles, the cloud moves  
Without you the tides change,  
The boys run, the oceans crash  
The crowds roar, the days soar,  
The babies cry…  
  
Without you the moon glows,  
The river flows, but I die without you.  
  
The world revives  
Colors renew  
But I know blue, only blue  
Within me, blue, without you.  
  
Without you the hand gropes,  
The ear hears, the pulse beats  
Without you the eyes gaze,  
The legs walk, the lungs breathe  
The mind churns, the heart yearns  
The tears dry…  
  
Without you life goes on  
But I'm gone cause I die  
Without you…  
  
© 1996 SKG Music LLC; Dreamworks Records; no copyright infringement is intended by my use of the lyrics…  



End file.
